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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24771424">From Eden</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/theimaginesyouneveraskedfor/pseuds/theimaginesyouneveraskedfor'>theimaginesyouneveraskedfor</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Agoraphobia, Dark, Diary, F/M, First Person, Journal, Neighbours, OC, Stalking, dark!bucky barnes, noncon, reader - Freeform, recluse, whatever you like</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 07:54:49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,527</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24771424</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/theimaginesyouneveraskedfor/pseuds/theimaginesyouneveraskedfor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The mc suffers from agoraphobia. After a new neighbour moves in across the street, her home becomes even more of a prison.</p>
<p>Warnings: noncon sexual acts; tags to be added throughout series</p>
<p>This is dark!Bucky. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>277</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So I've decided to try something new. I'm hoping that you don't mind the new format. This story is written in first person in the form of diary entries. Transcripts will be included at the end of chapters to accomodate any who have issues reading the images.</p>
<p>I am still working on Omerta but chapter 12 is taking me a little bit longer to complete so hopefully this can tide you over until tomorrow. Thank you so much for your patience! And support!!</p>
<p>As always, if you are so inclined, please leave some feedback in the comments and/or a kudos. &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
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</p>
<h2>Transcript:</h2>
<p>
  <b>Sunday</b>
  <b>
    <br/>
  </b>
</p>
<p>It rained today. I hoped it would break the humidity but the air is still balmy and thick. The garden is starting to droop without the usual June sunlight. The shrubs look healthy but I don’t know if the mums will bloom. It is late for them.</p>
<p>The windows are clouded now the rain is gone. Once they dry, it will be suffocating again. I should have pulled out the old patio set last weekend but Lorena was here for the groceries. My meds are running low, I’ll have to remind her.</p>
<p>Oh, I found the old afghan grandma used to use. The one with the knitted flowers. Not a single hole. I’ll wash it and hang it over the loveseat in the lounge. It still smells of her. It’ll be two years next week. I miss her.</p>
<p>The kettle is whistling. Lorena bought a new flavour of tea; a spiced rooibos. It smells more suited to the winter but I’m anxious to try. It’ll boil over if I keep writing. </p>
<p>I found a documentary on a country house in the British Midlands. I might watch that with my tea. Or maybe fall asleep on the couch. Again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Monday</b>
</p>
<p>I have a new neighbour.</p>
<p>Today, I went out to check the bulbs I planted two weeks ago. I don’t think they’ll bud. It was humid and I had sweat in my eyes as the large truck pulled up across the street. The orange moniker on its side was faded and its white paint was almost yellow. I peeked out the gate as they backed it up. </p>
<p>The beeping was horrible, almost deafening.</p>
<p>A car was just behind it. I shouldn’t be so curious but grandma always said I was a watcher. Watching is easy; doing is… difficult. </p>
<p>My new neighbour is a man. He has dark hair and a thick beard. I thought I was hallucinating when I saw the rest of him. His arm shone in the sunlight. It’s metal! I’ve never seen anything like it. I never saw a prosthetic that ended in anything but a hook or a blunt stump. I guess, I never really thought much about it.</p>
<p>I think he saw me too. It is hard to see behind the ivy that covers the front gate but I swore he could see me. I hid before I could make sure of it. It’s rude to stare. That’s what grandma would say. So went back to the flower bed and dug up the bulbs. They were dead.Lorena is coming tomorrow. I’ll ask her to grab more.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Tuesday</b>
</p>
<p>Lorena came buy today. She commented about my new neighbour. I acted surprised.</p>
<p>I gave her my list and reminded her of my pills. She was gone for a while before she returned. When she returned, I helped her bring in the bags. We unpacked them and she told me about her new niece; Cora. I think that’s a pretty name but Lorena thinks it’s too old fashioned. She said I would like it given my usual tastes. </p>
<p>She asked if I was wearing grandma’s shirt. I lied and said I wasn’t.</p>
<p>I showed her the garden and she had some tea after helping me set up the heavy iron patio set with the mosaic tabletop. </p>
<p>She showed me pictures of Cora. She said when she marries Shelby, she wants to adopt but her sister offered to be her surrogate. I thought that was nice.She left shortly after. I’m in the garden, staring at the old shed as I write. The frame around the window is starting to fall apart. I should fix it soon. And maybe clean the–</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Later</b>
</p>
<p>The man was at the gate. The one with the metal arm. He scared me.</p>
<p>I hid behind the ivy as I looked out at him. His eyes are very blue. Piercing. Despite the heat, they made me want to shiver. His metal fingers wrapped around one of the curlicues of the gate. He said hello and that his name was Bucky.</p>
<p>I nearly swallowed my tongue as I ran away. I didn’t dare grab my diary until the sunset. He was gone, thank god. I hope he doesn’t come back.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Wednesday</b>
</p>
<p>Doctor Tisha called today. She wants me to come in at the end of the month to have my prescriptions reviewed. I told her they were helping much better than the old ones. No more vertigo or manic fits, but my dreams are really vivid. She also reminded me that I should make more of an effort to go beyond the garden. The pills can’t do all the work. Well, I think there are parts of me that just can’t be fixed.</p>
<p>I cleaned out the birdbath but the shed window is still drooping. There’s a spider web above the door and I’m working up the courage to open it. My grandma was always the brave one; she called her slippers ‘the exterminators’. She always made me laugh.</p>
<p>Then the man returned. His knuckles make an odd clinking on the gate when he knocks. I didn’t move at first. I’d rather have faced the spider and her web. But he kept on and it was getting rather annoying.</p>
<p>He pulled some of the ivy aside as I got close. I kept to the edge and peeked out at him. He held a box of freesias. </p>
<p>“Hey again.” </p>
<p> He speaks as if he knows me. I don’t like that. He didn’t even care that I didn’t answer. </p>
<p>“I see you like to garden so I thought I’d bring you some flowers. To introduce myself…. Better. I’m sorry if I scared you yesterday.”</p>
<p>I didn’t know what to say. The freesias were all shades of red, orange, and yellow. Young with a bit of growing still to do. I shook my head.</p>
<p>“You don’t want them?” He asked.</p>
<p>I frowned so hard it hurt my cheeks. I haven’t talked to anyone by Lorena or Doctor Tisha since grandma died. I was never good at that.</p>
<p>“No, I don’t know you.” I felt as if it was someone else talking.</p>
<p>He blinked and I suddenly felt very dizzy. I ran back to the shed and ripped the door open without thinking. The web caught in my hair as I slammed it shut behind me. I sat in the shadows as I tried to wipe away the web. The old rubbermaid lid warped beneath me, if not cracked. </p>
<p> I didn’t come out until the musty air made me sick. As I ran into the house, I noticed he had left the flowers on the other side of the gate. I locked the door behind me and shuddered. I swore I felt eight legs crawling down my arm.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Thursday</b>
</p>
<p>Sure enough, the flowers are still there. They haven’t wilted at all despite the intense heat of the sun. June is in full effect and the days get brighter and longer. </p>
<p> I found the old weather vane grandma said was swept away in a storm. It was hidden behind the row hedges along the stone wall around the yard. It’s bent but fixable.</p>
<p> I went inside to eat at noon. I looked out the window as I ate; the strawberries were sour. I saw a shadow through the gate. I watched for a while, sure it was the shifting of the sun. Then I saw the metal fingers and the man’s square jaw as he tried to see past the ivy. He knelt and touched the dainty petals of the freesia. He lifted one of the small pots to sniff and placed it back in the box.</p>
<p>He left shortly after. I won’t go back out. I need to work on the house anyway. All this dust is making me sneeze.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Friday</b>
</p>
<p>The flowers are still there.</p>
<p>I refuse to look at them. Instead I focus on my own. I brought the old sony tape deck out to listen to the radio. Grandma always said it was older than me. I believe her. The speakers crackle and the antenna kept falling off.</p>
<p>The robins and sparrows were at the birdbath and a pair of cardinals have taken up in the old painted birdhouse around the back. The squirrels broke the window frame on the shed. Well, I’ll deal with that next week.</p>
<p>The flowers are starting to bloom nicely. I thought they might not, given the late showers and the sudden drought. </p>
<p>There was a monarch butterfly by the carnations. It flew away before I got too close. My mother liked monarchs. I remember she had one framed in her room. Like the picture of her in grandma’s.</p>
<p>I try not to think of her. Or grandma, too much. </p>
<p>It makes me sad. Doctor Tisha says this isn’t grandma’s house anymore, it’s mine. My life is mine, she tells me. It’s never really felt like it but I’m trying.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Saturday</b>
</p>
<p>The lock on the gate is broken and the flowers are gone. They didn’t go far. I found them planted by the lilies. I had tears in my eyes and my hands shook terribly as I wound an old bike lock around the gate. I picked up the pieces of the old latch. It’s totally ruined.</p>
<p>I haven’t been out since. I’m scared. Was it him? </p>
<p>It seems like a kind gesture but the memory of the busted lock makes me think otherwise.I’m confused. <b>What does he want?</b></p>
<p>He should’ve let the flowers wilt and die. Or maybe I should just learn to tell people to leave me alone. Out loud.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Warnings: noncon sexual acts, mentions of mental illness; tags to be added throughout series</p>
<p>This is dark!Bucky. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Yo, so here’s part 2! I hope you all enjoy. As before, there is a transcript at the end for anyone having issues with the images.</p>
<p>Thank you so much for your patience! And support!!</p>
<p>As always, if you are so inclined, please leave a comment. &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p>
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<h2>Transcript:</h2>
<p>
  <b>Sunday<br/></b>
</p>
<p>I called Dr. Tisha this morning. I told her about the neighbour. She said it was nice of him to help with the garden but ignored me when I mentioned the broken gate. I don’t know if she believed me. It didn’t seem like it. </p>
<p>She’s coming by tomorrow to check on my progress. That means I can’t keep those magazines on the dining table anymore. The last time she made me throw half of them out. She didn’t listen when I told her some were so old they were priceless. Sometimes it feels like she doesn’t listen to me at all. Well, what do I pay her to do then?</p>
<p>I haven’t been back outside. I should water the garden as it’s only getting hotter but I don’t appreciate the unwanted audience. An intruder!</p>
<p>
  <b>Later</b>
</p>
<p>I still haven’t found the courage to venture out. I made sure the bike lock was still in place from the front door. It is. Though, if that man’s metal hand could break the old lock, it will likely shred the chain lock. </p>
<p>Thinking about it makes my heart race. I should go lay down. I’m dizzy and the humidity is making me sick to my stomach. Or maybe it’s something else.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Monday</b>
</p>
<p>Dr. Tisha came by early today.</p>
<p>I showed Dr. Tisha where I kept my medicine in the bathroom cabinet, the pills divided into the days. I check off each day on the calendar so I don’t forget either. She said that was good. The last time she was here, it was because I’d stopped taking the pills so I hope this made her happy.</p>
<p>Then she walked through the house, she said she was happy to see the top of the table this time. I laughed but it wasn’t really funny. Then she went to the kitchen and checked all the drawers. </p>
<p>She found some books hidden under the sink and asked if I’d ever read them. I mean to but haven’t yet. She took them to the guest room where she found the bins of books stacked in the corner. Better than last time when they were a pile on the carpet. </p>
<p>She said I have too many things. Too many things that aren’t mine. She says it’s okay to be sad about grandma but that holding onto all her stuff won’t bring her back. Like I don’t know that! I do know! But she left me these things so yes, they are mine.</p>
<p>Then we went to grandma’s old room. It’s the same as it was. As it’s always been. Dr. Tisha frowned and went to my room next. </p>
<p>She asked me about the broken bed frame. I told her it was nothing. I made sure to replace the duvet I’d dragged out the couch to sleep without threat of rolling onto the floor in my sleep. Not that I sleep very much.</p>
<p>She opened my closet and found the magazines. That didn’t impress her either.</p>
<p>We had tea in the kitchen and talked. She asked me how I was feeling. About side effects and all that. Besides the occasional bout of nausea and vivid dreams, I’m fine. She agrees.</p>
<p>Then she asked about the tall shelf of vinyls in the living room. Which one is my favourite? I told her the old Vera Lynn record reminded me of grandma and it was still on the needle.</p>
<p>Then we argued. She wants me to get rid of the ones I don’t listen to. And the magazines in my closet! And she wants me to go through all the books, too. </p>
<p>She also suggested that I think about redecorating. I told her I didn’t want to do any of that. I like the house the way it is. Who is it hurting if I have a few extra books laying around?</p>
<p>She calmed me down after I raised my voice. She made me count my breaths and explained that I don’t have to get rid of everything, just a little. She says it would help with my progress. And, she said, I could probably make a healthy profit off a yard sale. </p>
<p>Well, I don’t care about the money, I don’t want to have a sale. I don’t want to deal with people and them thumbing through grandma’s thing for pennies. </p>
<p>Dr. Tisha said she’ll make some signs and we’ll have the sale on Saturday. My task for the week is to decide what to sell and prices. We argued again but not very long.</p>
<p>When she left, I started crying. Everywhere I look, I see grandma and this place is empty enough without her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Tuesday</b>
</p>
<p>Lorena showed up today.</p>
<p>I gave her my list, it wasn’t very long. She asked about the bike lock and I asked if she could stop by the hardware store and get a new mechanism. She asked me if I even knew how to fix it. I said I’d figure it out.</p>
<p>I told her about Dr. Tisha’s idea for the yard sale. She said it was a great idea. I still don’t agree but she offered to help me sort through the guest room. I shrugged and asked her how long she’d be at the store. She said the usual and left.</p>
<p>I waited by the door. I watched the front gate for her return. She had the combination to the bike lock now and could let herself in. I just wanted her to come back and drop everything off so I could be alone.</p>
<p>When she did return, she wasn’t alone. I saw her at the gate, fumbling with the lock. As the gate shifted open, a metal arm reached past her to push it all the way. The man held a paper bag in his other arm as Lorena carried the other.</p>
<p>He was smiling as he spoke to her and let her pass. He followed her to the door and he saw me before I could back away from the slated window in the door.</p>
<p>“Open up,” Lorena called as she tapped the door. </p>
<p>I didn’t know what else to do but open the door. When I did she handed me her bag and reached for the one the man held.</p>
<p>“Sorry, but… I can’t let you inside.” She said glumly. “But thanks for the help.”</p>
<p>“No problem.” He glanced past her and I tried to hide behind her but he’s taller than her. He’s very big up close. “You have a great day. Both of you.”</p>
<p>“You, too.” Lorena said and he strode away.</p>
<p>When the gate clattered closed I waited until I was sure he was gone. I dropped my bag and rushed to check the lock. He’d secured it. Good.</p>
<p>I went back to the house and locked the door too. Lorena already had both bags on the table.</p>
<p>“He didn’t mean any harm,” She said as she unpacked the groceries. “He was just helping me so I figured–”</p>
<p>“You shouldn’t have let him in.” I told her.</p>
<p>“He was only in the yard. He didn’t come into the house.”</p>
<p>“I could have helped you.” I said.</p>
<p>“When’s the last time you went past the gate?” She asked as she pulled out a small plastic bag and slid it across to me. It was the new lock. “That should fit, if you can figure it out.”</p>
<p>“That’s not the point, Lor,” You slapped the table. “You let him into my space. A stranger!”</p>
<p>“He’s your neighbour. I’ve talked to Dr. Tisha and you know you’re supposed to be working on your socialising. This yard sale will be a good first step.”</p>
<p>“This yard sale is bull shit,” I was so angry I could have yelled. “I like being alone. I like it here. This is my home and these are my things!”</p>
<p>“Calm down.” She set down the carton of milk and neared me. “Look, I’m sorry. You’re right. I should’ve asked before I let him past the gate.”</p>
<p>I felt so tired. Suddenly weak, like the air had been let out of me. I felt bad for being so mad with her after she went all the way to town for me. </p>
<p>“I’m sorry I got upset.” </p>
<p>She forgave me and I forgave her. She convinced me to fill one bin for the sale before the end of the day. She left shortly after. Her and Shelby are going to see a movie. I’m watching one too. An old black and white movie Grandma had on her shelf of cassettes. It’s interesting but the edges are fuzzy and the audio is muffled.</p>
<p>Oh, well, I’m tired. And I’ll be sleeping on the couch anyway.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Wednesday</b>
</p>
<p>I tried to fix the lock today. I haven’t been outside that long since last week. The garden needs to be watered.</p>
<p>I took out grandma’s old toolbox, the tools half-rusted but intact. I got what was left of the old lock off easily but the new one was more of a task to get in. I had to open the gate to get it in. The holes for the screw were off-kilter but I couldn’t turn the lock enough to get them to line up.</p>
<p>Then he showed up. That man. Bucky. The lock slipped out as he scared me and my screw driver hit my shoe. My toe still hurts.</p>
<p>“You need some help?” He asked.</p>
<p>I shook my head and tried to close the gate on him but he was already picking up the mechanism and screwdriver.</p>
<p>“I can do it.” I sound like a dying mouse. I reached for the lock but he didn’t even seem to notice. “Hold the door steady and I’ll just–”</p>
<p>“I can do it myself,” I said louder but he still didn’t seem to hear me. Or chose not to.</p>
<p>He reached around the gate and pulled it closer to him. I grabbed the bars and he slid the lock into place. His metal fingers shifted it and aligned the holes.</p>
<p>“Do you have the screws?” He asked.</p>
<p>I found the box on the bunch of rocks just beside the gate. I handed him each long screw and he easily twisted them into place.</p>
<p>“There ya go,” He gave the screwdriver back and smiled.</p>
<p>I closed the gate, as good as pushing him out of the yard. He let me but looked confused. I took the key from the box and slid it in the slot. I turned it and the click slowed my racing heart.</p>
<p>“I still don’t know your name,” He said.</p>
<p>I didn’t tell him and left him there. You think he’d get the clue.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Thursday</b>
</p>
<p>It’s not even 5am. I woke up in a sweat. The fan is dead and the house has grown stolid, even as the night air slips through the open window.</p>
<p>I thought I’d closed it more but it is wide open and the power is out. There is an eerie silence as the buzz of the fridge is entirely gone and the house is pitch black. </p>
<p>I swear I saw something move in the window. Maybe a bird?</p>
<p>I tried to get back to sleep but it’s too hot. I guess I’ll just sit and wait for the sun to rise. It’s already starting to.</p>
<p>I want to go out in the garden today. I just hope that man doesn’t bother me again. I hope the lock is still in place.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Friday</b>
</p>
<p>Well, yesterday was fine. The power came back on at noon as I watered the garden and trimmed some overgrown plants. The freesias had grown despite my neglect. </p>
<p>Today was just as boring. I read at the patio table for a while but then the phone started ringing. Dr. Tisha was checking in. She said she put the signs up yesterday and hoped the turn out would be good. She asked me how much I got done. I lied and said a lot.</p>
<p>Now I’m going to go sort through the guest room and toss a few records on top to get her off my back. I guess I’ll just have to hide under the table tomorrow.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <b>Saturday</b>
</p>
<p>Everytime I think I’m doing better, it all goes so bad! </p>
<p>Dr. Tisha and Lorena arrived early to set up the yard sale. They unfolded a table just inside the gate, leaving it wide open, and helped me arrange everything on top of it. I was nervous and tired. I didn’t sleep very much.</p>
<p>I waited nervously and the first customer showed up. Gladys, an old friend of Grandma’s. She bought an old pin cushion and the Miles Davis record. I should have kept that.</p>
<p>I watched mostly as Dr. Tisha and Lorena took the money and helped people, both familiar and not. </p>
<p>Dr. Tisha made me introduce myself to them at least. I hated it but they were mostly friendly. A woman with two children, I think she said her name was Essie? She said she liked my shirt. That was nice.</p>
<p>But then he showed up! I ignored him at first as he played with the ornamental cowbell. He took that and a few records from the table. He didn’t even seem to notice Dr. Tisha or Lorena as he came to me.</p>
<p>I kept my head down as I lined up the thimbles beside the painted sewing box.</p>
<p>“How much for the records?” He asked. </p>
<p>I didn’t say anything and went to the other end of the table. He followed and I turned back and went back to the other end again. He followed me. Again.</p>
<p>“Now,” Tisha stopped me. “What are you doing? He asked you a question.”</p>
<p>I looked up and blinked dumbly. “What? I didn’t– I was–”</p>
<p>“Bucky,” Lorena greeted him as she neared. “Tisha, this is the neighbour who helped with the groceries the other day.”</p>
<p>“Oh, hello,” She held out her hand as she blocked me from getting away. “I’m Tisha.”</p>
<p>She introduced me then and told me like a child to say hello. I did, quietly.</p>
<p>“Are you… the one who gave her the flowers?” Tisha asked.</p>
<p>“I did.” He smiled. “But I guess she already has enough.”</p>
<p>“She’s shy,” Tisha lowered her voice. “She’s working on it. Now,” she turned to me, “how much do you want for the records… and bell?”</p>
<p>I didn’t know what to say. The man watched me and I felt as if I would melt.</p>
<p>“Come on.” Tisha poked me. “We talked about this, right? This is your sale.”</p>
<p>“Ten dollars each,” I doubled the price. “And twenty for the bell.”</p>
<p>“That’s a bit pricey,” Lorena said. I shrugged.</p>
<p>“Sounds fair to me,” The man took out his wallet as he leaned the record on the table beneath the bell and used his leg to keep it from falling. “I’ve never listened to these bands before and I’m trying to expand my library.”</p>
<p>He held out the money. Tisha had to elbow me to get me to take it. I snatched it from him and counted it. Another elbow as Lorena kept me from turning away.</p>
<p>“Thank you,” I said to him. </p>
<p>“I hope you enjoy the records,” Tisha offered gently before she pulled me aside.</p>
<p>She took me closer to the house as Lorena watched the table. She lowered her voice. “What’s going on?” She asked.</p>
<p>“Nothing.” I lied.</p>
<p>“Nothing? Why were you so rude to him?”</p>
<p>“I don’t like him.”</p>
<p>“You don’t know him.” She insisted.</p>
<p>“I don’t want to.”</p>
<p>“Look, I know you’re uneasy around men, but he was nice. And he’s your neighbour. You’ll be seeing a lot of him so I think you should at least try to be friendly. And remember what I said about friends?”</p>
<p>“My only friend is dead.” </p>
<p>I was so upset I ran inside. And now I’m locked in my room, waiting for them all to just go away.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Warnings: noncon sexual acts, mentions of mental illness, grieving, trauma, panic attack; tags to be added throughout series</p>
<p>This is dark!Bucky. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I know it’s been a while…</p>
<p>Thank you so much for your patience! And support!!</p>
<p>As always, if you are so inclined, please leave some feedback. &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
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  <b>Transcript:</b>
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<p>
  <b>Sunday<br/></b>
</p>
<p>When Dr. Tisha and Lorena left last night, they were still angry with me. I didn’t care much as both of them lectured me again over that man. I told them the same things I had before. I don’t want to know him.</p>
<p> They suggested at least that I save the money I made for a day out. Lorena said it would be good for me to try to go into town and do some shopping myself, for myself. The thought made me choke but I just smiled and said, “we’ll see.”</p>
<p> Now I’m awake, early again. I keep hearing things in the yard. I tell myself it’s a raccoon or something else, maybe even a bat! One got in the house last year and I locked myself in the bathroom until I was brave enough to grab the broom and chase it out. Looking back, it’s sort of funny.</p>
<p>I looked out the window but I just saw shadows that made me nervous. The bird bath was eerie in the dark and the shed looked decrepit. I thought I saw something move along the wall but I’m sure it’s only me being tired.</p>
<p> I did try to go back to sleep but then I started thinking about things I haven’t thought of in a long time. About the things I told Tisha I never want to think or talk about ever again. </p>
<p>Then I thought about grandma and mama. Why did they have to leave me?</p>
<p>
  <b>Later</b>
</p>
<p>I was in the garden when it started to rain. It started with a big crack of thunder and I almost screamed at how scary it was. It came so fast I barely got inside before I was soaked through. Then I giggled at myself as I stripped out of my muddy jeans and wet tee shirt.</p>
<p>When I was a kid, I used to love to dance out in the rain, or just stand and let it wash over me. When my mother died, it stormed and I sat in the downpour until I got sick. The drops hid my tears and numbed the pain of that lonely ten-year-old. I’m older now but sometimes I still feel like a kid.</p>
<p> I watched the sky darken through the window and the smell of the rain in the dirt was comforting. I made tea and kept watching. The sky would flash, a cacophony of awe, and I felt as if I was living in an old Hitchcockian shot. I liked to think there was a camera there to catch the perfectly framed scene, the frightening and frantic swell of the storm that reflected the suspense of the human catastrophe about to take place.</p>
<p> Then the horror was no longer just in my mind. I cleaned my cup and turned. As I passed through the dark hall I saw a shadow flash at the window of the door. I gasped and rushed forward to check the latch but the figure was gone. I peeked out and there was nothing.</p>
<p> Now I’m still awake and I think I just got carried away with my imagination. I’m watching The Wizard of Oz but the colours aren’t as bright as they used to be. At least, they don’t seem like it.</p>
<p>🖊</p>
<p>
  <b>Monday</b>
</p>
<p>I don’t remember falling asleep. It must’ve been late, or early depending how you look at it. I woke up to the blue screen as the VCR had stopped and rewound the tape. It was still dark, the sky hungover from the wild night.</p>
<p> I made blueberry tea. It was too sweet after I let it steep for too long. I watched the morning birds bask in the full bird bath and slowly the sun began to shine down. It’s brighter now and I’m going to try to fix the shed window.</p>
<p>🖊</p>
<p>
  <b>Tuesday</b>
</p>
<p>I couldn’t write anymore yesterday. Not after what happened.</p>
<p>I can’t.</p>
<p>🖊</p>
<p>
  <b>Wednesday</b>
</p>
<p>
  <strike>I </strike>
</p>
<p>
  <strike>On Monday, I</strike>
</p>
<p>He was here.</p>
<p> I was hammering the board back into place and I hit my finger into the nail. The metal left a painful blister and my knuckle split and bled. I cried out and dropped the hammer as I held my hand and tried not to tear up.</p>
<p>“You alright?” he asked and I looked at him, afraid.</p>
<p>He was at the gate. Had he been there, watching me? I nodded and wrinkled my nose in pain. I couldn’t bend the top of my finger. I hid my hand and left the mess on the ground as I rushed to the front door to hide inside.</p>
<p>“Hey,” he called as I whimpered, dumbly trying to turn the handle with my hurt hand, “you’re hurt. I can help.”</p>
<p> I shook my head as my finger throbbed. I looked at it and cringed. It was really bad.</p>
<p>“I just want to help.”</p>
<p>“Why are you here?” I watched the door creak open and didn’t look back at him, “why are you bugging me?”</p>
<p>“I was just walking by and I heard you,” he said, “I know how to set your finger… or I can take you to the hospital.”</p>
<p>I didn’t want to go to a hospital. The thought makes my stomach hurt. I hate hospitals.</p>
<p>“I can deal with it.”</p>
<p>“You’re bleeding a lot,” he insisted and I was getting really annoyed.</p>
<p>“What do you care?” I don’t understand him or why he kept bothering me and hanging around my gate!</p>
<p>“Well, I won’t lie to you, your friend, Tisha, she told me to keep an eye on you,” he said through the bars, “so yes, I was watching you.”</p>
<p>“She’s not… not my friend,” I was so angry. Why would she do that!? She doesn’t even know him, I don’t know him, “she’s my doctor.”</p>
<p>“Can I help you with your finger? I’ll stop watching but you need to get it set and soon.”</p>
<p>“I don’t care. I got nine others.” I was mean and didn't care.</p>
<p>“Then I can call your doctor? She gave me her number in case--”</p>
<p>“No, no,” he couldn’t call her. She’d be mad at you and she’d make you go to the hospital, “don’t call her, please. Just… stay here.”</p>
<p> I went inside and with one hand, I searched under the counter for the dinged old white chest. I pulled it out by the thin metal handle and went back outside. The way he watched me made me nervous even though he was so calm.</p>
<p>“If I let you in, you have to leave right after,” I said as fearsomely as I could, “and this is the only time you’re ever coming in.”</p>
<p>“You’re shaking really bad, that must hurt,” he looked at my hand and ignored my warning.</p>
<p>“Do you get it!? You have to promise to leave after.”</p>
<p>“Sure, just let me help,” he nodded.</p>
<p> unlocked the gate and slowly opened it for him. We sat at the patio table as he searched through the old box of first aid gear. He took out gauze and found two straight sticks from the garden. He tested their strength and sat back down.</p>
<p>“Give me your hand,” he said.</p>
<p> I reluctantly put my hand on the table and hissed at the pain in my finger. He cleaned it carefully and I looked away as he went about his task. It hurt less not seeing it. When he finished wrapping it up, I pulled away and stood.</p>
<p>“Good, now go,” I pointed to the gate.</p>
<p>“That won’t be good for more than a day,” he stood, “I have some real splints at my house. I could come back-”</p>
<p>“I told you, no,” you jabbed your hand towards the gate, “out.”</p>
<p>He was quiet and he looked around. His jaw set as he considered the thick garden and his eyes narrowed.</p>
<p>“The flowers are doing good,” he said.</p>
<p>“Please, leave,” I begged, he was making me nervous. </p>
<p>I was still shaking but not from the pain. I remembered that night, it wasn’t just one, it was several, and they laughed as they stood over me. They were smaller than him, just teenagers, like me, but they still hurt me.</p>
<p>“Go!” I shouted, “go! Go! Go!”</p>
<p> He grabbed my shoulders as I began to hyperventilate. I hadn’t been so worked up in a long time and I could stop as the fit began. I chanted the word over and over as my body shook so violently and my voice became only deep and painful breaths. My chest burned so bad.</p>
<p> I didn’t remember what happened after that. I only remember him in my house. I was on the couch and Dr. Tisha was there too. </p>
<p>When I could speak again, I asked her to make him go. She ignored me and said that he helped me, that he had kept me safe by calling her. </p>
<p> But I saw his smile and how he looks at me. I saw the way he paced around the house and noted every inch of it. I watched him as Tisha fed me chamomile tea.</p>
<p> She didn’t want to leave me alone, she said. She thought I should go to the hospital for my finger and for a mental evaluation. I sucked up the panic in my chest and told her I was okay, that I remembered the exercises and it wouldn’t happen again. I could tell she didn’t really believe me.</p>
<p>“I’ll stay with her,” Bucky offered and my eyes rounded.</p>
<p>“I’ll be fine,” I told Tisha before she could respond.</p>
<p>“You’re not fine,” she said, “in good conscience, if you won’t go to the hospital, I need someone here to monitor you.”</p>
<p>“Lorena--”</p>
<p>“She’s off-the-clock. I can’t expect her to come here right now, she has other clients.”</p>
<p> I frowned and crossed my arms and crushed my injured finger, “why can’t you stay?”</p>
<p>“Well, I left a session for this and I have others waiting on me. I would stay if it was an option. Listen,” she sat and spoke to me like I was a child, “this man is a public servant. He is a good man, in fact, I think he’s a lot like you. Now it would be wrong of me to go into detail about his experiences but I have it on good authority that he knows better than even me what you’re going through.”</p>
<p> I shook my head and pouted, “I won’t hurt myself. Not again.”</p>
<p>“I wish I could believe you,” she said, “but recently you’ve shown some serious regression. If you keep arguing with me, I will be obligated to have you escorted to the hospital and kept for seventy-two hours...</p>
<p>Or Bucky can stay until Lorena comes by tomorrow and I can return.”</p>
<p>“I didn’t do anything. I got nervous.”</p>
<p>“I won’t ask again.”</p>
<p>“Fine, fine, he can stay,” I gave up. The thought of another hold at the hospital was enough to make me give in. I couldn’t do that again.</p>
<p>So Bucky stayed and I didn’t sleep. Again.</p>
<p>And I didn’t write and I can’t anymore. I don’t feel good.</p>
<p>🖊</p>
<p>
  <b>Thursday</b>
</p>
<p>There’s a lot to catch up on but I don’t want to write about it. I never want to think about it again.</p>
<p>Bucky’s gone, Lorena and Tisha made their visit on Tuesday, and I’m fine.</p>
<p>I’m fine.</p>
<p>🖊</p>
<p>
  <b>Friday</b>
</p>
<p> feel him still. He’s watching me. I know he is! </p>
<p> He was in my house, he slept on my couch, he walked through my halls. I smell him still and it makes me sick.</p>
<p> I see him through the gate, he doesn’t try to hide anymore. I called Tisha for my daily check-ins. I’m back to those again. I told her he was watching and she told me he was only concerned. She said I was exaggerating. She thinks I’m crazy!</p>
<p> The walls used to protect me. I used to hide behind them but now I just feel trapped.</p>
<p> He’s watching again. I see him through the window. He’s at the gate, his metal hand on the bar as he searches for me. I’m going away before he sees me. I’m turning out all the lights and locking the doors.</p>
<p>🖊</p>
<p>
  <b>Saturday</b>
</p>
<p>The gate is broken again. The face of the lock fell off and one of the bars is bent through several others.</p>
<p> The lower hinge is busted and I found footprints in the dirt. There are tulips missing from the garden, the pink ones. I got those bulbs from grandma, her last gift to me. I’m sad.</p>
<p> The doors are still locked and all the curtains are closed. I can’t even turn on the TV.</p>
<p>
  <b>Later</b>
</p>
<p>He was in the house! I know he was! The window to my bedroom was open and the blankets on my bed were all messed up. I woke up on the couch as I usually do. I feel asleep reading a book with only a candle. The candle was out and the pages of the book were bent.</p>
<p> I got up to go to the bathroom. I felt weird. My shorts were damp with sweat. The house is so hot with the windows shut. I stopped when I noticed my bedroom was open, I always closed the door.</p>
<p> It’s really hard to write because I’m still shaking. It wasn’t just the window or the blankets. There were pink tulips on my pillow. </p>
<p>I know it’s him. He’s playing a game with me, a game I don’t like.</p>
<p> I’m scared and I hear someone in the garden. I can’t remember if I locked my bedroom window. I was so afraid, I can’t remember.</p>
<p>I can’t remember.</p>
<p>I can’t~~</p>
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